With Deerhunter it’s binary: love or hate. I fall into the former category, as they are my enduring current favorite musical obsession. Weird, dark and dirty-wonderful, they require a listen at full volume – on 11 – although I imagine my neighbors would prefer I left this particular band to the solipsism of my iPod.
B indulged me, and we went to go check out their live show at the Bowery Ballroom last night (and unfortunately missed SPOON’s free outdoor show due to competing events - New York has so many amazing outdoor concerts in the summer it’s pure insanity).
Atlanta-based noise rockers and Pitchfork darlings, this quintet has sparked a fair amount of controversy. A loose meld of distorted vocals and jangley guitars, they inspire the repeat button in iTunes. Did I mention distortion? I was deliriously happy that they played my OCD triumvirate of ‘Cryptograms’, ‘Octet’ and ‘Wash Off’, plus a whacked version of ‘Strange Lights’.
Lead singer Bradford Cox did an odd strip-tease throughout the show that started with anti-Garanimals mismatched prints, morphed into a sequined butterfly number and ended in a 70’s disco dress. He then closed the show post-encore with a 10-minute soliloquy akin to overhearing someone’s therapy session. Huh.
They will be rocking the South Street Seaport along with Battles at the end of August. Rather than the requisite clandestine wine I usually sneak in, that’s a show that warrants Xanex cocktails in a hip flask.